In the line of duty

By H. P. S. Greene
The story of a flying lieutenant who went A. W. O. L.
A heavy truck lumbered slowly along a road in central France. On both sides of the road was an uninspiring vista of brown fields, stretching away as far as the eye could reach, and only occasionally broken by small clumps of small scrubby trees. On the seat of the truck beside the driver sat a little man with a drooping mustache. This droopiness was evidence that he had come there by way of Paris. When he reached the French capital the mustache had been smartly waxed.
Finally he addressed the driver out of sheer boredom.
“Pretty sad dump around here, ain’t it?” he remarked obviously.
“Sad?” inquired the truck driver, a horse faced man with a large bulge in his cheek, who suggested mules rather than mechanical means of locomotion. “Sad? Say, Lieutenant, you ain’t seen nuthin’ yet! Wait till you see the flyin’ field. They have to lay duckboards to get out to the airyplanes on. The only birds who have a good time around there are the Dutchmen—prisoners, you know. I took ’em out a load of beer and cognac this morning, and there was a hardboiled M.P. sergeant ridin’ the load to make sure it all got there, an’ it did, too. And then the lucky suckers work in the kitchen and get all they want to eat, too—the Dutch, I mean. Makes me sick to think o’ them krauts lyin’ around with nuthin’ to do but stuff an’ guzzle, while hard workin’ guys like me— Look, there’s the field now.”
He pointed ahead to a group of low barrack buildings which clustered near the road on the left hand side. Farther away could be seen several hangars, but no signs of activity.
“I don’t see any flying going on,” remarked the lieutenant, whose name was Tommy Lang.
“No, an’ you won’t prob’ly, till next spring,” returned the driver.
He turned off the rough but hard road through the gateway into the camp, and the engine of the truck began to labor as its wheels sank deep into the soft mud, so he shifted into second. Once more the truck lurched forward, but only for a moment. The driver shifted back into first, but the new impetus gained was only temporary, and presently the chainless wheels spun vainly. The driver shut off his motor and climbed to the ground.